The Politics of Music in Wartime
Melissa McMasters

           Ever since America was born, music has been around to reflect the social climate. And ever since government was born, government has been sorting out its relationship with music. For many years, government used music’s power to enhance its own. During the Civil War, the government used the popular brass bands of the time as an incentive to get Northerners to enlist in the army. The association of certain regiments with famous bands brought many men into the army, so many in fact that the government later had to recall its plan because the musicians were distracting the actual soldiers (“The Civil War Bands”). In World War II, the government created a special National Wartime Music Committee to write both patriotic and anti-Japanese propaganda music (Sheppard 304). There was a genre of music during World War II that existed to comfort and entertain the populace, but the government had its own agenda as well.

But relations between music and the government soon became less than symbiotic. While the nation was at war in Vietnam, government was waging its own minor war on popular music. Perceiving rock and roll and protest songs as a threat to the national power structure, the government began reacting against the music it didn’t like. Its attempts to condemn rock and roll, along with subsequent efforts to use this music to its advantage, showed that the government saw music as a powerful tool of social change. However, history has shown that society impacts music more than music impacts society. How is all this relevant in our current national situation? Right now, government and music largely stay out of each other’s way, but the potential for competition between the two still exists. National crises, specifically the Vietnam War and the current war on terrorism, provide an interesting glimpse into the relationship between music, society, and the government.

The 1960s saw music becoming decidedly more politicized than it had been in the past. The days of comforting big band music that had characterized the World War II era were receding. Rock music was coming into popularity, and with that popularity came government scrutiny. Republicans, especially those from the Nixon administration, lashed out against what they perceived as the drug culture created by all forms of rock and roll. Politicians were alternately scared and appreciative of what rock music could do for them. But the true power of

music in politics didn’t reveal itself until a huge national crisis erupted.

The Vietnam War was the catalyst for a musical movement unlike any that came before or since. Vietnam caused people to reflect on what war really meant, since the threat to Americans consisted solely of our entering the war. No one was out to get us or encroach on our freedom, so why was the government sending young men out there to risk their lives? These and other questions provided the basis for radical political music, or protest songs. Many memorable anthems emerged from this period of dissent. Creedence Clearwater Revival’s “Fortunate Son” reflected on why poor boys went off to war while rich men’s sons got to stay home. Eric Burdon’s “Sky Pilot” asked how pilots could bomb and kill and ignore the horror of their actions (Orman 156). Buffy Sainte-Marie’s “The Universal Soldier” cast the blame for the war on soldiers who blindly accepted society’s instructions and made themselves the weapons of the war (Hibbard & Kaleialoha 56). And Jimi Hendrix’s incendiary version of “The Star-Spangled Banner” to close the Woodstock festival became what Charles Shaar Murray calls “probably the most complex and powerful work of art to deal with the Vietnam War and its corrupting, distorting effect on successive generations of the American psyche” (Pemu). Musicians such as Bob Dylan, John Lennon, and Neil Young weighed in on the controversy through their music, whether they did so overtly or subtly. The counterculture was alive, well, and relatively famous.

That’s when the government took notice. It was counterproductive to national harmony for rock music to be delivering anti-government messages, but the government certainly wasn’t powerless. One of its prime targets was John Lennon, whose political songs were quickly switching gears from lyrics about peace and love to lyrics about U.S. political repression (Orman 109-110). Lennon and his wife Yoko Ono, with whom he held well-publicized “bed-ins” for peace, put out progressively more radical albums as the war dragged on. In 1972, after they released the album Some Time in New York City, the U.S. government began taking steps to deport Lennon, citing his drug use as the reason (Orman 109-110). While the album (like other radical albums of its day) was not particularly successful, it still frightened the government. The political music of the time most likely reflected, rather than created, political attitudes. The birth of the anti-war subculture was not signaled by music alone, but music was an easy target for the government to attack. The nation’s leaders were very concerned with society being impacted by the messages of popular music—which is why they ultimately decided to harness that impact for themselves.

The 1972 presidential race between Richard Nixon and George McGovern was heavily concerned with the youth vote. The 26th amendment to the Constitution, passed in 1971, gave all citizens 18 and older the right to vote. Political strategy held that the youth vote would decide the election (Orman 15). A great number of the nation’s youth were angry over the war, and surmounting their disenchantment with the nation’s politics was bound to be a daunting task. The one way it seemed they could be reached was through their responsiveness to popular music. So in order to get the youth’s attention, the candidates began enlisting musicians to play at political benefit concerts. McGovern counted Peter, Paul, and Mary, Simon and Garfunkel, Dionne Warwick, James Taylor, and Carole King among his supporters. The Nixon campaign, which had previously lashed out against rock and roll as fostering a drug culture, partnered with relatively conservative label MGM and acts like Sammy Davis Jr. (Orman 16). The plan failed miserably—only 6 million new voters registered, and only 55% of registered voters turned out (Orman 17). Government’s attempt to mix music and politics had fallen on apathetic ears.

After Vietnam and the Nixon/McGovern presidential race, rock music largely receded from the political scene. The reasons for this were chiefly financial. The campaign had sought to exploit the popularity of rock music in attracting the youth vote, but it hadn’t been particularly effective. While some of the rock stars had raised their profiles by performing at the political benefits, the extra attention they got was negligible. Meanwhile, the musicians with the most radical political messages hadn’t won much favor with the government or with a widespread audience. Many of those whose protest music we can readily recall today were already established artists. After all, most of us probably remember John Lennon more for his work with the Beatles than for the albums he put out with Yoko Ono. Certain artists brought with them a name recognition that probably helped to sell their music in some way. It’s also significant that the most popular songs during the Vietnam era were light tunes like the Archies’ “Sugar, Sugar,” B.J. Thomas’ “Hooked on a Feeling,” and the Supremes’ “Can’t Hurry Love.” Politically charged songs had a presence on the Billboard charts, but they rarely ascended to the number one position. Protest didn’t always sell, at least not on a grand scale.

But it was memorable. The fact that we remember so many of the anti-war songs and revere the artists for their statements is a testament to their power. The American reverence for individual expression tends to reward these songs for taking a stance. The songs stand out as more “important” than something like “Sugar, Sugar,” and we associate them with the era that created them. John Orman says, “Some Top 40 acts would have one political song out of eleven on an album and get credit for being ‘political’” (Orman 156). To some extent, the same can be said for our current era, with one difference. A Top 40 act most likely wouldn’t bother to put out a political song as a single for fear of being stigmatized. Being political doesn’t translate into dollars. The quick post-Vietnam decline of political songs in the mainstream reflects this fact. In the aftermath of Vietnam, musicians were mostly unconcerned with Watergate and other national issues, with the exception of folk artists like Joan Baez, Arlo Guthrie, and Phil Ochs. Music was becoming “safe” (Orman 163). The music that reflected the issues of everyday life, like relationships, jobs, and entertainment, became the most popular. Artists like Elton John and Bruce Springsteen offered music that was fun to listen to but didn’t require any kind of political commitment.

Except for occasional causes supported by large groups of musicians (like Farm Aid, Free Tibet, and the No Nukes concerts), a major relationship between music and politics is notably absent in today’s culture. There’s no real musical movement anymore. Certainly there is plenty of response to current events and the less-than-ideal national situation, but voices of dissent are almost always heard underground. Edginess isn’t something mainstream music has endorsed lately. America’s buzzword in the aftermath of September 11 is “unity,” and patriotism is a way of life. The music community’s response to the attacks is a mixture of pain, reflection, and expression of “the American spirit” that wants to stand up and proclaim our freedom and resilience. It is interesting to see how musicians have responded to the national situation, and in turn how the public and the government have responded to the music.

In the immediate aftermath of September 11, many Americans struggled with how to process the events. After repeated viewings of the planes being flown into the World Trade Center towers, people were numbed with shock and grief. For several days, the radio and television stations broadcasted nothing but coverage of the attacks. When it was time for radio to begin broadcasting again, there were questions as to what songs would be appropriate to play. Certain songs were removed from playlists for fear that people would be offended. Rumors circulated that Clear Channel had compiled a list of 150 lyrically questionable songs in order to ban them from its 1,170 radio stations were greatly exaggerated, but many stations did amend their playlists in reverence for the tragedy (Strauss). Songs whose titles or lyrics could bring to mind disturbing images from September 11, such as the Gap Band’s “You Dropped a Bomb on Me” and Third Eye Blind’s “Jumper,” were among those that received less airplay (Strauss).

The songs that did get played tended to be not just safe but somewhat subdued. In the weeks following September 11, particularly upbeat songs met the same fate as songs with potentially offensive titles and lyrics. Washington, D.C. radio programmers pulled some songs like Kool and the Gang’s “Celebration” because their “happy-go-lucky, life-is-great” tone seemed inappropriate (Ahrens). Old songs suddenly took on new significance, giving listeners the double benefit of familiarity and comfort. Mariah Carey’s “Hero” enjoyed a resurgence in popularity, for example. Lee Greenwood’s “God Bless the USA,” a song from the Persian Gulf War, once again became a top-selling single because of its obvious patriotism (“Culture After September 11”). Newer songs not specifically written about the tragedy nonetheless became associated with the time because of particular lyrics or musical arrangements that tapped into prevailing emotions. Five for Fighting’s “Superman,” with its languid arrangement, became ubiquitous in late 2001 because its lyrics dealt with the struggles of being a superhero. Enya’s “Only Time” found a similarly wide audience. The song’s soothing tones compensate for the uncertainty of the words, creating a melancholy but hopeful feeling.

Recording artists quickly began responding on their own. Ten days after the attacks, America: A Tribute to Heroes, a telethon benefiting the victims’ families, aired on the major broadcast networks and cable channels and featured many artists singing songs meant to comfort and elicit emotional response. Some of the songs were new, such as Bruce Springsteen’s “My City of Ruins” and Sheryl Crow’s “Safe and Sound.” Others were old songs given fresh poignancy by the recent tragedy. Billy Joel’s “New York State of Mind” stirred nostalgia and sadness for the city hit hardest. Neil Young’s version of John Lennon’s “Imagine” presented a challenge to embrace idealism even in times of deep pain. The artists who participated in the event did so out of a sincere wish to help the families through their difficulty, and their response to the tragedy was one example of music’s power to move people to action. The telethon raised $128 million (“America: A Tribute to Heroes”).

Shortly after the telethon, a second benefit was organized by Paul McCartney. The Concert for New York City was a tribute to the firefighters, police officers, and rescue personnel of September 11, and over 6,000 of these guests attended the show (“The Concert for New York City”). Artists such as James Taylor, Elton John, The Who, Mick Jagger, and John Mellencamp played sets at the concert, and an album was produced with the proceeds benefiting New Yorkers affected by the tragedy (“About the Concert”).

This kind of direct action by musical celebrities seems to be the most effective way to channel the power of music. By tapping into the social consciousness of the moment, artists can use their popularity to stir audiences. By providing direct outlets such as telethons and sales of specific albums, artists give the mass music-buying audience the opportunity to respond to social problems through the realm of entertainment. When a national crisis occurs, music creates a language of comfort and becomes an acceptable outlet for people to understand the emotions they’re feeling. New York Times music critic Jon Parales says that the reaction from the popular music community reflected the range of emotions that people wanted to hear. “They wanted to hear something to comfort them. They wanted to hear something to tell them that they were still okay. They wanted to hear something that captured the anger people felt” (“Culture After September 11”). For the most part, recent music has adhered to that philosophy. Only when the music does not reflect what is considered an acceptable reaction to a crisis does controversy arise.

Several artists have garnered negative publicity because of post-9/11 songs that didn’t sit well with the wider listening audience. Steve Earle’s song “John Walker’s Blues” is sung from the point of view of American Taliban fighter John Walker Lindh. The song neither expressly condemns Lindh nor celebrates him by any means, but reaction to it has been fierce. News outlets from The Washington Post and Fox News carried the story, and Nashville DJ Steve Gill said, “This puts [Earle] in the same category as Jane Fonda and John Walker and all those people who hate America” (Corn). The Nation’s David Corn reacts to the outcry by reflecting that the song portrays Lindh as having been betrayed by his fundamentalist ideals. He says, “…since the song doesn’t blast Lindh—what rhymes with scum-sucking maggot?—it’s deemed a pro-Taliban anthem. Apparently, 9/11 killed nuance, as well as irony” (Corn).

The public is quick to react these days to anything that seems remotely connected with terrorism or the idea of the “other,” the one who isn’t “with us.” While part of this is undoubtedly vigilance and real concern, some of the reaction to more trivial things may be a product of the government’s “you’re either with us or against us” rhetoric. Earle’s song, at the worst, may be in poor taste. But for the public, and especially members of the news media, to label him as a terrorist sympathizer is extreme. Alternate perspectives aren’t necessarily welcome in the charged climate of post-terrorism America.

The war on terror, at least in its early stages, had much more national support than the war in Vietnam because there was a sense that we were actually fighting against something this time. The threat against our national security was coming from the outside, not simply from our President’s choice. Many of us weren’t in the mood for persuasion in the months following the terrorist attacks. A musical movement would have seemed out of place and insensitive. But as the war on terror has become more widespread and given way to talk of preemptive strikes and massive privacy losses, people have begun to question the government’s methods once again. It is striking, however, that this questioning isn’t often heard in musical form. The anti-war songs of the ’60s showed that, while songs that questioned national politics didn’t enjoy the mainstream success of “safer” music, they were still part of a vocal subculture. They made enough impact to be quite familiar to audiences four decades later. Today, there is no recognizable subculture. The few songs questioning current politics or providing an offbeat perspective have been attacked or relegated to the underground scene. The “No War on Iraq” movement is easily spotted in the media and elsewhere, but so far no significant musical weight has been thrown behind it.

For now, it looks like the government is mostly safe from the impact of “disagreeable” popular music. But a look back through history reveals the reason why and forecasts a possible change. In the World War II era, most popular music consisted of comfort music of the sort we’re hearing today. Lyrical themes concentrated on the imminent end to the war and the reuniting of couples and families. The prevailing national sense that the war was necessary to preserve the country’s (and the world’s) way of life from Nazism was reflected in the songs’ tacit acceptance of the war. In Vietnam, the tide turned. The government had failed to convince the American people that their national security was being threatened by the situation in Vietnam. There was no sense of urgency. As the war dragged on, people’s anger and disenchantment came out in protest. Music was one of the most obvious outlets for this expression of discontent. It was reaching people the government had failed to persuade. No wonder the government felt threatened by music—it could disseminate persuasion on a national scale. Protests in individual colleges and cities could be brushed off, but music was everywhere.
Our country’s current situation resembles World War II more than it does Vietnam. We have been attacked, and the government has all but assured us we’ll be attacked again. Our national security and our individual lives are being threatened daily. Music has so far been a reaction to the hurt and confusion, a way to cope with the new reality.

Shortly after September 11, the President delivered a speech that announced the beginning of America’s war on terrorism. He warned that it would not be a swift and easy victory; instead it would be “a lengthy campaign unlike any other we have ever seen” (“Transcript”). The speech was well-received. For the time being, the majority of American people were convinced that a war on terrorism was necessary to protect our national security. This widespread support is already beginning to recede somewhat with talk of a preemptive strike against Iraq. The true test for the government in the next few years is to continue convincing Americans that this war is the way to preserve our way of life. People have to believe that the consequences of war are for the greater good. If enough people cease to buy into that, then we will begin to see a climate more like that of Vietnam. Protest music will begin to pick away at the government once again. In the battle for the support of the American people, the most convincing rhetoric will prevail. And if it’s a rock band that taps into the emotions of the people, the government will have to choose between listening to the protests or trying to squash them again. If that happens, it will be interesting to see what course the government decides to take.

Works Cited

“About the Concert.” The Concert for New York City. Sony Music Entertainment Inc. 2001. 2 Dec. 2002. http://www.columbiarecords.com/concertforny/about.html

Ahrens, Frank. “After Heroics, Russian Reporter Stricken.” Washington Post 18 Sept. 2001: C02.
“America: A Tribute to Heroes.” The September 11th Fund 2002. 2 Dec. 2002. http://www.uwnyc.org/sep11/telethon.html

“The Civil War Bands.” Band Music From the Civil War Era. Library of Congress 2000. 15 Nov. 2002. http://memory.loc.gov/ammem/cwmhtml/cwmpres07.html

Corn, David. “Capital Games: Cultural Treason? The Right Targets Musician Steve Earle.” The Nation 24 Jul. 2002. 25 Nov. 2002.
http://www.thenation.com/capitalgames/index.mhtml?bid=3&pid=84

“Culture After September 11.” Online NewsHour. A NewsHour With Jim Lehrer Transcript. 1 January 2002. 25 Nov. 2002.
http://www.pbs.org/newshour/bb/entertainment/jan-june02/culture_1-01.html#

Hibbard, Don J. & Carol Kaleialoha. The Role of Rock: A Guide to the Social and Political Consequences of Rock Music. Englewood Cliffs, N.J.: Prentice-Hall, 1983.

Orman, John. The Politics of Rock Music. Chicago: Nelson-Hall, 1984.

Pemu, Wayne. “Star-Spangled Banned: Anthem of a Generation.” Experience Hendrix: The Official Online Jimi Hendrix Magazine. 1995-2001. 22 Nov. 2002.
http://www.jimi-hendrix.com/magazine/502/502,features,nationalanthem.html

Sheppard, W. Anthony. “Anti-Japanese Musical Propaganda in World War II Hollywood.” Journal of the American Musicological Society 54 (2001): 303-357.

Strauss, Neil. “The Pop Life; After the Horror, Radio Stations Pull Some Songs.” New York Times 19 Sept. 2001: E1.
“Transcript of President Bush’s Address.” CNN.com. 21 Sept. 2001. 29 Nov. 2002. http://www.cnn.com/2001/US/09/20/gen.bush.transcript/